


A ghost, a rabbit, and a hero

by Pseudonym_I_Anonymous



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: England is only mentioned, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:00:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudonym_I_Anonymous/pseuds/Pseudonym_I_Anonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was so cold, but not the usual sort of cold that created goose bumps on your skin and colored your cheeks red. It was a different cold, one that came from inside of you, and that cold burned.<br/>You've lost someone and now you don't know what to do, or even if you can even do anything. It's been a long day and everything hurts, but that's okay, because Alfred is your hero and he will always come to save you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A ghost, a rabbit, and a hero

      Everything was so cold, but not the usual sort of cold that created goose bumps on your skin and colored your cheeks red. It was a different cold, one that came from inside of you, and that cold burned.

      You were curled up on the plush bed of your dad’s friend’s home. A flimsy blanket was wrapped around your body, though it did little to stop the thunderstorm that wailed and raged on outside.

      *Crackle, Boom*

      As you pull the blanket further over your head, the thunder that crackled above you only seems to get louder as time goes on. Silent tears streamed down your face and fear seems to seep into the cracks of your mind, dragging you deeper and deeper into her own personal abyss.

       “I can’t believe he’s dead! He was too young!” Through the thin walls you can hear your aunt weeping and wailing into your dad’s friend’s arms. It’s a good distraction from the fear that is eating you alive, but not from the cruel reality staring her dead in the eyes.

      “It’s not fair,” she can hear her shout. Her aunt is a short woman who seems to defy the laws of time by staying young and loud forever. She talks a lot, the girl thinks, sometimes too much. But, it’s okay though, ‘cause on days like this she thinks she prefers the chatter.

      For a long moment, she just lays there concentrating on her dad’s friend. Mrs. Britanna comfort her aunt, in a similar way one would comforts their kids when they fall and get a bruise. She and her aunt have one big bruise though, and she’s not so sure that her aunt finds it comforting. The girl does though, the gentle sound of the lady’s voice is oddly soothing to her. She keeps listening until she can feel the heaviness of her eyelids beginning to take it’s toll on her and she begins to

      drift

                                    off

                                                        too

                                                                           BOOM

      Yet again she is ripped violently away from the peace. Her body can only shake as she concentrates on trying to calm herself. And it’s almost enough to make her miss the soft tap-tap-tap of footsteps on wood just outside your room,  almost enough for you to miss the creaking of the rusty hinges on the door. It’s even almost enough for her to miss the tiny “hello” that a nervous little boy speaks. However

          it’s

                   not

                                       enough

      for her to miss the the vibrant baby blue that appears in front of her when the blanket is lifted from your head.

      “Um... Hi Y/N!” the boy gives her a bright smile albeit slightly nervous. This boy is Alfred F. Jones and he is her best and only friend.

      “I-I thought you might be sad so I came to protect you,” and she can only stare at him with widened not-puffy eyes.

      (Cause she hadn’t been crying. And she swore she wouldn't cry. So she won’t cry. She can’t.)

      “And Artie told me to tell you that I was sorry for your lo-.”

      “You can’t be sorry, he’s not dead,” you interject throwing in a glare for good measure, though even a part of her can’t even believe what she says. The glare seems to work though, cause he leaves the subject alone after that.            

      He moves to stand up and she can feel the panic well up in her at the thought of being alone. Her shaking hand reaches out to him, but they fall just short of his arm and she pulls it back.Alfred doesn’t notice her, instead his little legs scurry over to the closet, and it flies open with ease. Soon he’s searching for something she can’t see in the moonless night. Yet, she can hear the rustle of cloth over the words that come from outside, so she waits patiently for him.

       When he rushes back to her, she can barely make out the outline of the item he’s holding in the pitch black darkness. It looks heavy though, and she’s surprised at the ease that Alfred drags it toward her with.

      Soon, before she can open her mouth to protest, he’s tugging the blanket off of her and replacing it with something bigger. And then he’s under a bigger, softer blanket with her and she can’t find the words to form a sentence anymore.

   It’s suffocating.

      She sits there, basking in his warmth, and she begins to wonder if he had always been this soft. She’s reminded of being curled up under a hearth, the heat of a blazing fire seeming to melt away the frost of the winter. Those days have long since left her for the summer nights, and feel only like a faraway fairytale now.

      “There! Nice and comfy,” he says, “So... Do you want to just sit here or is there something else you wanna do?”

      She can only blink in response and watch as his eyes widen in delight, when a simple thought comes to him . He fishes something out of his pocket, pulling out something lumpy and hard. His fingers circle around the plastic till he finds a smooth lump and turns it on with a click. Light pours into the tiny little space under the blanket, and her eyes blur, trying to adjust to the light. When her eyes adjust she can see a flashlight that makes almost everything feel a little bit darker. Almost everything, it only seems to emphasize Alfred’s own natural light though.

      “My big brother taught me this really cool trick you can do with a flashlight,” he says smiling, and it lights up the place even better than the dinky little flashlight ever could. She couldn’t pry her eyes away from him, and his odd happiness; suddenly everything felt was almost too bright for her.

      His hands are grasping hers now, pulling them into the light and he twists it into a disfigured shape. She can’t quite tell what he’s doing until she can see the shadow that lay behind the hand. Two ears protrude out of what you think is a disembodied head.

      Alfred gives a high pitched giggle when he sees the creation,

      “Shadow puppets!”

      “Artie is way better at me than this. But I’m gonna improve, just you wait,” he says, seeming almost as distracted as her, but she couldn’t quite tell as to why.     

      “Lemme try,” she tugs away her hands from his, and a silent part of her mourns the loss of the simple comfort.

      However, the feeling passes  as quickly as it comes, like most kids her age she is easily distracted. And though the voices from outside have gone to rest, this time the distraction comes from a shadow-butterfly landing on Alfred’s shadow nose.

      There is a                         pause                            as the two children stare at their intermingled shadows. Even though she can hear the pounding of rain on the window pain outside, silence suddenly seems to be in abundance and she just bought a lifetime's worth of it.

      It’s only when he laughs does the awkwardness seem to completely melt away. The sound reminds her of the tinkling of the bells that she tied to a particularly red bike her father taught her how to ride when she was seven.

      Before she could recognize it, something that sounded like laughter was coming from her own mouth, slowly at first, but soon enough it was pouring out.

      Light and laughter seem to fill up the room, taking up every inch of unoccupied space and it momentarily silences the despair and sadness that had been clawing it’s way out of you through her broken Heart. The beauty of it all is almost magical.

     And she laughs

           and laughs

                   until she cries.

      The tears are falling like the rain, streaming down her cheeks and refuse to cease even as long arms wrap around her. She buries herself into his chest even though she can feel him tense at the situation. And yet... the night seems to pass a little quicker after that.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Eh, this was supposed to be a longer multi-chaptered fic, but I got a bit lazy so I think I'm going to put this up as a stand alone one-shot. If I ever have the time I'll pick it up again one day... just not today.


End file.
